Nicki Minaj - We Go Up (Nicki Minaj in the Multiverse of Madness) lyrics

[Intro]
New York Stand The f*ck Up!

Ayo
This week Rari, next week Lambo
b*tch I'm flying, I don’t lando
This they, funeral
Start the service
Say my name
Make en, nervous


On the real, n*gga, I'm a real n*gga
I run around with them real n*ggas
Got real sons, I need a real sitter
When I leave n*ggas, they get real bitter
O-o-o-on the real, n*gga, I'm a real n*gga
I-I-I run around with them real n*ggas
E-e-eight mil’ on that new thing
Tied up like my shoe string
Ain't f*ckin' wit' you b*tch n*ggas and that's real rap, but I do sing
Make room when I come by
Ain't speakin', I'm dumb high
Just heard n*ggas got jokes, it’s a matter of time before one dies
It’s a MAC, fact, I'm in the black ’Bach
We never lack, lack with that strap (Ooh)
I'ma drive through but if you back, back
It's gon' clap clap and that’s that (Ooh)
I never tap tap if I don't like a ho
You act act like you like her though
Never backtrack if I ain't f*ckin' with you
Can't sit with us but you might can go
All my pretty b*tches, high-saditty b*tches
Got a milli' b*tches on go (Go)
All these silly b*tches, I'ma kill these b*tches
Yo Pop, who the f*ck want smoke? (Brr)
Keep-keep it real, you really mad
'Cause your baby dad used to like me though (Ooh)
I-I ain't f*ck him 'cause I ain't want him
Told him, "Take a hike like a hiker" though
This Givenchy is custom made, now you can't get it at Saks though
I don't work in no office, but they copyin' and that's facts though
I ain't tryna be violent, but if Nicki on it, it slaps, ho
Get you lined for that paper like a loose leaf when that strap blow
I'm with a couple bad b*tches that'll rip the party
If Quavo the QB, I'm Nick Lombardi
Pull up in the space coupe, I done linked with Marty
I can actually afford to get a pink Bugatti
"Ayo, Nick, didn't you just do a hit with Gotti?"
That too, but my n*ggas send hits like Gotti
It's a wrap, like the things on the head of a Saudi
b*tch, you my son, go and sit on the potty
These? Nah, that ain't Reebok
We back on that Ewok
Percocets, gotta detox
Firearms gon' get restocked
Shooters hittin' that G-spot
b*tches imitate, please stop
Suck his di*k like a freeze pop
First, he gotta give me top (Brrt)
Ain't yellin' cut, when it's shootin' time
Sign up, it's recruitin' time
Big wigs, with a suit and tie
And them big things got two inside
f*ck wrong wit' these ho n*ggas?
Don't do coke, I don't blow n*ggas
I don't tell n*ggas, I show n*ggas
And it's never less than like four n*ggas
(Four-four) Four wings and some french fries
Hot sauce and ketchup, n*gga
He telling and he hiding
But real n*ggas still catch a n*gga
Co-cop 'Raris, I don't test drive 'em
Home theaters, can't Best Buy 'em
These n*ggas that I roll with
Don't let a single thing get by 'em
Ki-king pins and them drug lords
Chi-Chi-Town, no gun laws
Broke b*tches that talk sh*t?
Now them the b*tches I stunt for
pus*y ass little rap n*ggas
I f*cked with real trap n*ggas
Pop star, i-icon
But I send n*ggas, come snatch n*ggas
I'm with EBK, you on EBT
Got a black nine, call it BET
School n*ggas, get a GED
And I tease n*ggas, make em B-E-G
Got a money fetish, I'ma fly to Venice
Got a big house, I can play some tennis
Lil Herb, what's good?
I'm a bad b*tch and I f*ck good